On the bonsai-green carpet, you stretch
your frame out flat upon a blue yoga mat
and parallel, I lie down upon a purple one,
both of us becoming still, our bodies sinking
further into the floor with each slow, steady
breath. It’s night, and together we’re letting go.
Our old black lab mix, Mollie, wanders in, licks
your open palm, sniffs my hair, snuffles, settles
by my head with labored breath. Soon, I know,
we’ll lose her. Someday, each other. This is
practice. We’re learning to dissolve, surrender
to earth, release thighs, hips, neck, skull, all
the bones, pay attention only to breath—let it
become a ribbon, the texture of fine silk.
Photography credit: "Detail from `Savasana—The Release,'" oil on linen, by Amy Funderburk © 2008-2011.